<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>his dancer by Cancelpocalypse</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242698">his dancer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse'>Cancelpocalypse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dancer Felix Hugo Fraldarius, M/M, but there is some so you are warned, closely follows AM canon, dimitri is NOT a hale hearty man after he comes to his senses, felix is So Done with the boar, felix studies dancing out of spite, just because i like to delude myself into believing my dimilix fantasies are real, petra appears for a few paragraphs, sylvain gets to hold areadbhar, sylvain is a pragmatist felix is a dreamer i will die on this hill, there's not that much violence/gore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:33:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29242698</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cancelpocalypse/pseuds/Cancelpocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ranking slightly above Felix's wish to not embarrass himself is his duty to perform (and quite literally, this time) to the expectations of his house. He practices, and he wins the White Heron Cup.</p><p>Dimitri complements him.</p><p>"You're just relieved that Byleth didn't pick you," Felix says.</p><p>Dimitri laughs in admission. Felix scowls. The only thing he can stand to do with Dimitri these days is cross swords. He can't take talking to a farce, to a mask. </p><p>Felix knows why the crown prince of Faerghus is really at the Officer's Academy.</p><p>***</p><p>for Dimilix week 2021: 'dancer' prompt</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>2021 Dimilix Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. felix.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>"So, you volunteered for the White Heron Cup?" Ingrid teases Felix over lunch on Tuesday.</p><p>"He was voluntold," Sylvain comments.</p><p>"I told Byleth I didn't want to," Felix says, stabbing at his meat.</p><p>The professor said it would fit his skills. <em>You're already quick on your feet and good with a sword. You'll</em> <em>be able to use your existing talents while developing your magic abilities. </em>All points Felix can't argue with. He hasn't given magic much of a shot before so maybe it'll work out. He manages to clamp his mouth shut before he complains of looking stupid in the dancer outfit, but that's really his biggest objection. Expensive garb, woven with spells, it would be childish to complain.</p><p>Maybe he is growing up. Tch.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ranking slightly above his wish to not embarrass himself is his duty to perform (and quite literally, this time) to the expectations of his house.</p><p>He practices, and he wins the White Heron Cup.</p><p>Dimitri complements him.</p><p>"You're just relieved that Byleth didn't pick you," Felix says.</p><p>Dimitri laughs in admission. Felix scowls. The only thing he can stand to do with Dimitri these days is cross swords. He can't take talking to a farce, to a mask.</p><p>Felix knows why the crown prince of Faerghus is <em>really</em> here.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Swords are easy. Felix could hold a training sword, take up basic stances, before he could write his own name.</p><p>Magic does not come as easily to him, as it turns out.</p><p>He even gets short with Annette when she tries to help him out. He's reading the assigned books and doing the exercises. Finds himself watching Mercie more, envious of how simple it looks when she does it. After a couple of weeks, he's able to muster the beginnings of a spell, but that's all -- it just fizzles out uselessly. Meanwhile, he's devoted so much time to this meagre achievement that his hours in the training grounds with a solid piece of steel in hand have gone from 4 to 2. This he does not like.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Felix asks Byleth to change his skill focus to just sword. Kind of a hint that he doesn't want to learn magic. Kind of a hint that he doesn't want to be a dancer, either, because even though he's learning steps, they'll be useless until he has the magic skill to go with.</p><p>Byleth turns him down.</p><p>It becomes a custom for Felix to repeat this request every week. Same outcome every time.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"You should stop asking me to change your skill focus, seeing as how I never agree," Byleth comments on the 15th day of the Pegasus Moon.</p><p>"Magic's not in my skillset," Felix says, rather than <em>it's too hard.</em> It's not really too hard, but he has better things to do. Yeah, that's what he'll go with. "It's better for me to work on my sword."</p><p>Byleth looks at him for a moment and Felix resigns himself to continue dancing.</p><p>"Alright. Be ready to switch to the mercenary certification path Monday." Byleth nods and walks around the desk to Sylvain, who is next in line with a question.</p><p>Felix stands there, surprised.</p><p>For some reason he's not as happy as he expected to be.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>So, Felix got his choice. But the choice feels like defeat. It's at the back of his mind and he can't get rid of it. He should have been able to do it, you know, magic and dancer class. Damn it, if Byleth had never made him try he wouldn't feel so upset that he quit.</p><p>Byleth hasn't asked for the dancer garb to be returned. Felix still has two beginner tomes sitting in his room.</p><p>Felix retires to his dormitory one night and finds himself opening <em>Elementary Reason</em> to the place he left off.</p><p> </p><p>*****</p><p> </p><p>Almost five years later, much has changed. What looked like peace was, in hindsight, simmering discontent, plans lying in wait. Edelgard is no longer the leader of a friendly rival house, in the rather posh academia of Garreg Mach – she is an emperor, leading an army that will have its victory even if it means trampling on those it once called friends. The Leceister Alliance is fraying, Claude's disarming smile not enough to mask the tensions that would break it apart from the inside.</p><p>And Faerghus?</p><p>And Dimitri?</p><p>Dimitri was accused of the regent’s assassination, labelled a traitor, and executed by Cornelia, almost five years ago.</p><p>Things have changed. Felix has learned a meagre two spells, but it’s enough. The only thing that's stayed the same is the sword in his hand. Maybe that's why the war hasn't taken his own life from him just yet.</p><p> </p><p>***********</p><p> </p><p>It's one particularly late night.</p><p>Felix has spent what time he has away from the battlefield or the road to the battlefield (which isn't a lot) mostly at House Gautier. The company of his friends and comrades is more attractive than having to put up with his father. Nevertheless, he still has to ride between both, and his departure is tomorrow morning.</p><p>War's never been fun, especially when half your country turns on you, but it seems the past year or so has been particularly hard; in terms of dredging up morale, in terms of the effort to try to stay one step ahead of the enemy. Conflict has stalled to some degree, still with skirmishes here and there along the split of Faerghus. But even if it's not a time of heavy loss, it's difficult to try to recoup. And likely that Cornelia's half of Faerghus is recouping quite well with the Empire's support, while House Gautier, Fraldarius, and other eastern houses struggle.</p><p>Resources are low and hope for alliances with leaders in the Alliance itself are also falling.</p><p>Felix and his sword go where they're supposed to – to open a way for a messenger, to help move citizens from a dangerous place to a slightly-less-dangerous place – and yes, to push off Cornelia's forces occasionally. And when they have nothing officially assigned? On reconnaissance. Heading up a small, elite taskforce to look for the dead king, especially if evidence arises. He'd like to do that again in a few days.</p><p>They (Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid) are on the balcony outside the game room at House Gautier. Stars and moon are out, though their light comes and goes through clouds. The breeze is chilly, warning of fall temperatures that will soon be upon them.</p><p>"I'll be at the House until the 18th, then meet me at Crookside Inn down south," he tells Sylvain and Ingrid.</p><p>They both sigh in tandem.</p><p>"What?" Felix demands.</p><p>"It feels like we just got back from one of your little missions," Sylvain says. "Oh right – because we did. Literally two weeks ago."</p><p>"Why are they <em>my</em> missions?!"</p><p>"I need to take a couple days, I'm going with an envoy to a border town up north and I have to prepare," Ingrid says factually. "Sorry."</p><p>Felix makes a frustrated noise.</p><p>"Give me one good reason why we should go. I haven't heard any news of Imperial soldiers in that area," Sylvain says, draping himself over the balcony in an exhausted manner.</p><p>"That's exactly why we should go. Rodrigue got report that there's a division marching east, close to Aeredy by now. We already know they've got significant encampments more to the south, several leagues from House Charon. The woods are good cover to head either way if you were looking for Imperial soldiers. We meet at Crookside Inn and strike off into the woods," Felix says, pacing.</p><p>Sylvain just sighs. This irritates Felix more than Sylvain's usual quips and comments.</p><p>"Are you serious? You're just not going with me?" Felix says.</p><p>"No, and you shouldn't go either," Sylvain says, turning around. "You're more use here. Or at your House."</p><p>"Use for what? This war won't end until –"</p><p>"He's <em>dead,</em> Felix!" Sylvain yells. Loud in the quiet evening. Ingrid flinches in Felix's peripheral and leaves them.</p><p>Sylvain's a good deal taller than Felix, but Felix won't be stared down. Nothing but the night breeze for some moments.</p><p>"If you think he's dead you never knew him," Felix grits out.</p><p>They stand off, each willing the other to leave first.</p><p>Finally Sylvain throws up his hands and brushes past Felix to go back inside.</p><p>"You're just as delusional as you thought he was," is what he says, without a glance back.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The first report of a small Imperial soldier battalion on the march, brutally slain with no evidence of the killer, was discovered about a month after Dimitri's execution, when Sylvain and some men had gone to drive off an anticipated Imperial strike from a border town and the enemy never arrived.</p><p>These sorts of reports kept filtering in. Mixed with those were tales from villagers of some beast – if it was to be identified from the mess it left behind -- ransacking homes harboring Adrestian loyals, leaving the local armory in disarray and missing weapons, even tearing through larders. Recently, the findings of small battalions of slain Imperial soldiers have become less frequent; Adrestian troops seem to move in larger numbers now. As if they've learned.</p><p>At first, Sylvain, Felix and Ingrid chased the reports; always too late to the scene to catch the perpetrator. Evidence? Often the crime scene is too bloodied and brutal to figure out much of importance. Felix only has one item: a long shred of blue cape, recovered . . . well, years ago now.</p><p>Felix uses it to tie his hair back and he'll give you a knife-like warning glare if you so much as look at it.</p><p>The only time he'll bring it up is if Sylvain is being particularly stubborn in not wanting to go along with him. The first few times, it worked, but now Sylvain's more likely to sigh and tell him it could be anyone wearing the colour of Faerghus. Whether Sylvain believes that or is just being pragmatic? Felix doesn't care.</p><p>He goes by himself, this time.</p><p>Only thing accompanying him on the long ride is his stewing thoughts.</p><p>Sylvain's not wrong. Dimitri is probably dead. Yeah, Felix isn't stupid. Dimitri is likely dead; if not decapitated at Enbarr, then quickly slain by troops of Imperial soldiers as he tried to escape, or if he made it out of the city, then overcome by nature itself by now.</p><p>It's one thing to <em>think</em> the boar prince is dead. It's another thing to <em>feel</em> that he's dead.</p><p>Can't explain it, but Felix's heart is insistent that he should continue to expose his reasonable mind to the chance of surprise.</p><p>So here he is on the road again.</p><p>It's a long ride south. You can never have too many eyes on the border of the civil war, though. Package this one up into an intel mission.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><em>He's probably dead. </em>Felix repeats this mentally, as a mantra. Silly. Why does he have to tell himself this?</p><p>Isn't it obvious?</p><p>His mount's hooves drum on the loamy dirt of the path that leads into the forest. Felix wears a gray-green cloak, for as much camouflage as it will afford him. Midday sun affords little warmth on his back; the treeline is starting to bloom with fall colours.</p><p>Yellow and orange.</p><p>Maybe he'll find red.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>He doesn't.</p><p>Sun is setting and he's following the edge of a small brook through the woods.</p><p>He'll be sore from riding this much in a day without breaks, and his motivation is wearing thin, so he dismounts to give both him and his mount a rest.</p><p>There's a bit of a clearing by the edge of the brook, and absentmindedly he goes through the latest step he's working on mastering. Boots tread on grass softly; he straightens his posture. He creates the lines with his body, the lines of the dancer's sigils. This is just practice, to drive the steps into muscle memory. No one to dance for now. Really, he hasn't danced for anyone since the academy, and there he only got to the point where he tried a couple times before he quit.</p><p>The evening is quite picturesque, with light reflecting off the brook where it can reach through the trees, even if it is getting cold. His mount is contentedly grazing on the bank of the brook.</p><p>Felix stands still, for a while. He's alone, and it's quiet, just whispering of the breeze in the leaves growing brittle, the brook.</p><p>He could almost believe there's no Fodlan-wide war right now. Almost believe that Dimitri is alive – physically, and himself – as he was. As Felix wants him to be.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>Every fruitless journey over the past years weighs on his shoulders. Wasted time, the next expedition with less hope than the former. Soon he finds his hands curling into fists, his eyes stinging. There's water running down his cheeks. He refuses to acknowledge them, so lets them crawl down, drip.</p><p>The very last entry in the first book of dancer's steps was the end steps. He learned them, and he's mostly done the second book now. Though at many a burial since the start of the war, a monk or mage will perform the end steps, Felix has had no cause yet to dance for the death of someone close. He’s grateful for this. Even if Sylvain and Ingrid aren't with him now . . . they're still on the same side, and they're still alive.</p><p>Why is he even here? Why did he insist on going off alone? Sylvain is right. He should give up. Move on. Win the war; forget Dimitri. Is he becoming too much like the boar? Holding onto ghosts? He's furious, at himself, for this kind of futile hope.</p><p>He should put his dead to rest.</p><p>He starts the first movement. Slow, stilted, strange. Forces his hands to open and follow the motions. Elbow bends, stops, overhead, stuck before moving on – <em>two, three.</em> And then he can't go on. His vision is blurry.</p><p>When he was a child, he used to run crying to Dimitri at every little prompting.</p><p>He would do that now, pride be damned, if only it meant Dimitri was there to hold him.</p><p>But he has nothing except his tears.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Against all odds, Dimitri's there.</p><p>The millennium festival, turned into a scouring of thieves.</p><p>He <em>and</em> Byleth.</p><p>Two for one.</p><p>Byleth seems relatively fine. Disappear for 5 years, reappear unfazed? Sounds as odd as Felix knows Byleth to be.</p><p>Dimitri, on the other hand, is not Dimitri.</p><p>They first meet him when everyone (yes, everyone is here save Ashe, by some great will of the goddess, or perhaps whatever foolery Byleth has been up to the past years) converges upon the town square, leaving the thieves' leader no hope of escape.</p><p>Felix sets eyes on the mess of blond hair, matted fur cape that most definitely isn't the original. The beast that wears this, and black armor, is not Dimitri; his gauntlets are clawed, and he viscerally <em>rips</em> a thief open. Not a second glance to the gore, only a snarling huff and whirling to the next foe, charging, with a look on his face that is too wild to be completely sane.</p><p>So this is what he was waiting for, all these years.</p><p>His king, <em>friend,</em> truly become a boar. A vessel for the dead to exact revenge, to enlarge their ranks.</p><p>Felix was right. He's always known why Dimitri was at the Academy. How he'd put his skills to use. He's called him <em>boar</em> for years. And he's proven right now, as the beast tears thieves' weapons from their hands and runs them through, as blood spills and spatters.</p><p>Felix takes no satisfaction in being right. Not this time.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>In the monastery, Dimitri is barely verbal. He spends most of his time huddling in the cathedral, in front of all the rubble at the front. He attends war councils, but is clearly in his own world, and only joins reality to demand a push for Enbarr and Edelgard’s head. At some point in the last five years, he must have lost his right eye, but the healers -- even Mercie -- soon give up hope that the beast will let them near the patch he now wears.</p><p>This is not Faerghus' king.</p><p>But Rodrigue certainly thinks so. Felix's father is as loyal as ever; a letter arrives from Duke Fraldarius, asking for a reunion in the Valley of Torment of all things. The meeting does not go without staving off an Adrestian attack, but at the end, the boar's claws are bloodied and the enemy falls.</p><p>Felix scrutinizes his father's face as he faces the boar. He can tell there is some unease to see Dimitri like this; nevertheless, he still bows and returns the lance Areadbhar to its owner. The weapon glows a sickly, hungry red in the grasp of the one with the Blaiddyd crest.</p><p>Rodrigue and his troops then offer to join forces with the rightful king and their current small, elite group. Rodrigue has left the ruling of Fraldarius territory to Felix's uncle.</p><p>Felix scorns his father yet more for this.</p><p>So Byleth and Duke Fraldarius join heads to lead up their strategy, based out of Garreg Mach with the resident thieves cleared out. Professing fealty to His Majesty – but actions are truer than words, and Dimitri is no more a leader than the wyverns in the roosts. At least the wyverns will bend their will to a bit and a rein.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The next two weeks are agony for Felix; the only thing to keep him still sleeping enough at night is knowing they're planning to take Myrddin. It's a bit of a compromise; everyone except the boar thinks it best to reclaim authority in Faerghus and strengthen their troops that way. But the beast only thirsts for Edelgard's blood.</p><p>The boar says as much as they near Myrddin. States his intent to wipe out the entire Imperial garrison there. Felix can't help but argue, but it's arguing with a beast, and Dimitri won't hear reason. The unspoken hope is that this battle will satiate him enough that he won't insist on marching straight for Enbarr afterwards.</p><p>Eventually, Felix is too furious with the boar to talk to him, and contents himself to smolder while he rides beside Ingrid. Ingrid? She's been more sober since they found Dimitri (like this), less mean. Felix didn't think he would miss mean Ingrid. Well, he does. And Sylvain has kept up his cheeriness, but it's more forced, and harder to come by – he seems to be avoiding his friends, always on some war-readying errand.</p><p>A cloud hangs over the whole of the uncrowned-king's troops, it seems, placed there by their leader himself.</p><p>Nevertheless, they make it to Myrddin.</p><p>General Ladislava awaits, at her command a mixture of skilled adversaries, human and demonic beast alike.</p><p>No match for Faerghus' beast.</p><p>The boar is terrifying on the battlefield. Yet, he compromises the rest of their forces. Mercie has to scramble to stay within range to heal him, and today he seems determined to actively avoid her help.</p><p>"I'll go," Felix yells at Mercie over the clamour, dispatching an armored foe with thoron, as she's about to gallop after His Majesty again.</p><p>He only knows a heal spell in the way of white magic, not nearly on the caliber of Mercie – without whom they would have certainly tasted defeat long ago -- but it'll be enough to keep the boar alive.</p><p>Felix is fast and sharp enough to cut his way through to his target. He yells at his battalion to follow. Dimitri's battalion wear blue and it's not hard to pick them out. From there, he only has the mental space to focus on fighting and healing the boar, who takes down enemy after enemy, seemingly no thought to give them a kind end. Areadbhar is insistent on death, but where it's faster to use his hands, the boar does.</p><p>Blood spackles and splashes on the fur and length of Felix's short coat as he stays in close range, sword flashing, spell readying. The boar charges ahead towards Ladislava, but a demonic beast is in their path. Felix orders his battalion to engage the monstrous thing; it is slow, but its hide is tough, so weapons only leave scratches before the beast sweeps soldiers away with its clawed forefeet.</p><p>The boar goes rushing straight for it.</p><p><em>Idiot! </em>Felix thinks, quickly gathering his brains to call thoron, and he manages to throw a lance of lighting out to stun the beast just as it's about to bring its bony jaw down on the boar. Maybe he would have dodged it anyway, but he does, and Areadbhar pierces the throat of the thing. Blood more viscous and green-toned than you would expect sprays then drips from the wound Dimitri carves.</p><p>The beast goes into its death throes; the boar tears his lance out and is moving on, for Ladislava now. As he turns his back, a writhing claw from the dying creature catches his cloak, slashes it open and drags through armor. But the boar's down only for a second and then is hurtling on.</p><p>Felix runs after, readying a heal cast.</p><p>The demonic beast collapses, cracking the stone floor of the bridge's landing. The remaining Imperial soldiers surrounding Ladislava clash with Felix and Dimitri's battalions; Felix only hopes that the rest of the Faerghus forces are not too far behind by now. There's no time to look back.</p><p>The boar rushes and stabs and tears his way through three of Ladislava's guards as Felix calls <em>heal</em> down and shuts the bleeding slash on his back. Immediately he has his own attackers to deal with. By the time his sword has found victory, Dimitri is almost at the Adrestian general, who now lifts off the ground on her wyvern, a dark brown, scarred creature. So she intends to fight the boar from the air.</p><p>As the boar extends his lance to down her mount, she pulls out of reach and swoops back in to strike with a throwing axe. A roar from the boar; must have hit. Felix bursts through the fighting bodies just in time to throw thunder at Ladislava's wyvern as it flies in for another ranged strike; the shocked thing lets out a screeching cry and it plummets, crashing down and taking out a few soldiers.</p><p>The boar is instantly rushing to the creature; lance out, straight into its chest, not even through the weak point at the base of its throat. Pulls the red-haloed weapon out, and Felix marks the look on Ladislava's face as she struggles to free a leg that's caught in one of the saddle straps. The boar closes in swiftly, clambering up the wyvern's side. The Imperial general makes a feeble attempt to stave off her enemy with the short sword she draws from her hip, but immobilized by her riding gear, she can't do anything else as Dimitri meets the strike with his armored gauntlet. Metal claws screeching, he rips the sword from her with that hand. With the other, Areadbhar stabs into her gut and the boar exultantly sweeps it up, splitting her torso. Gore ruptures; Felix has to look away.</p><p>When he looks back, Dimitri has turned back around, the mad look of a victor who cares nothing for his foe, blood gleaming dully and dripping off Areadbhar and his gauntlets, dirtying his ripped cape. Felix sees that indeed Ladislava's first axe has scored a good hit on the boar's chest though a seam in his armor, weeping red, but the boar shows no sign of pain.</p><p>It doesn't take long for the rest of the Imperial troops to start throwing their weapons down and dropping to their knees. If Ladislava could not best the boar king of Faerghus, then surely none of them have a chance.</p><p>Felix hasn't much time to anticipate what's going to happen next before it does: the boar looks around from atop the wyvern, and his expression turns angry as he rushes down, lance in hand.</p><p>"<em>SPARE NONE—"</em> the boar begins to order, but Felix is past his limit to put up with this. As Dimitri passes him, intent on the nearest surrendering Imperial soldier, Felix whirls and turns his swordpoint into the wound Ladislava's begun. Rushes and pushes it through flesh. The boar <em>howls,</em> staggering off the blade, making to sweep his lance at Felix in a return blow, but then suddenly Sylvain has arrived on scene, on horseback, and rips Areadbhar from Dimitri's claws as he canters by.</p><p>Staggering, the boar half-falls to the ground, bleeding profusely from the wound that now extends down through the blue star on his chestplate. "Do <em>none</em> of the Imperial troops merit a decent end?!" Felix bursts out at the boar. "Must you slaughter them with no regard for a burial?!"</p><p>"They are just . . . monsters, with human faces . . . all of her minions. <em>All</em> of them," the boar growls in response, clutching his shoulder and slowly rising to a hunched position. Sylvain, two lances in hand, turns his mount and guides it to stand beside Felix.</p><p>"He's bleeding out—" Sylvain starts.</p><p>"I know," Felix cuts him off, casts the heal he's been readying. The white sigil forms, light covers the boar for a moment, and then his wound is no longer life-threatening.</p><p>On the battlefield, the surrendered soldiers are being rounded up by the Faerghus troops. Sylvain warily transfers Areadbhar back to its owner, who appears to be standing down.</p><p>"Monsters . . . all of them," the boar's muttering under his breath. "To get to <em>her</em> …. We have to kill them all. I must –"</p><p>Felix's vision is still seared from Ladislava's murder. He grits his teeth. Cuts the boar off. "So what happens when we meet our old friends? Linhardt tried to help you, you and your headaches, back at the Academy. You helped Petra with <em>etiquette</em> back then," Felix snorts. "And you know very well Ashe is on her side, don't you? Will you tear him open without a second thought? Or maybe you've forgotten about him, just like you've forgotten all your other old friends."</p><p>Felix doesn't wait for an answer. He has had <em>enough</em> for today. Did Byleth see their little altercation, as the strategist rides around the corner from the keep with their division of troops? Felix doesn't care. He turns away and calls for someone to bring him a horse. Time to round up his battalion and report to Byleth and Rodrigue – can't imagine saying this years ago, but better his father than Dimitri.</p><p>He doubts the boar even notices him go, but glances back anyways.</p><p>To his surprise, the boar is staring after him, looking unnerved.</p><p>That's not a good look on him either. Felix turns back around as a mage approaches him with his mount.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Felix, standing guard in the cathedral at night, marks more of the boar's mutterings and wailings as pained, not angry, after Myrddin.</p><p>No one said he had to stand there. He doesn't even really want to be there, but he can get by on six hours' sleep instead of seven.</p><p>The boar doesn't sleep or eat enough. His strength must come from whatever manic concoction the ghosts serve him.</p><p>Eventually, Felix has to retire.</p><p>He glances over his shoulder as he leaves.</p><p>For the first time in all of his vigils, the boar has his head turned back to watch as Felix goes, single blue eye cast over the furry shoulder of his cloak.</p><p>Felix whips back around and hurries away.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>At the following war council, Byleth and Rodrigue assert the strategic need to turn first to Faerghus before Enbarr. They may have taken Myrddin, but still suffered losses, and they'll be better off with more soldiers.</p><p>The boar will have none of it.</p><p>"We go to Enbarr," he growls when Byleth and Rodrigue look to him for his acquiescence.</p><p>Ingrid hasn't said much all meeting and is fiddling with something in her hands. Sylvain sighs. An air of discomfort fills the hall.</p><p>Byleth looks at Rodrigue. Rodrigue seems to be struggling to find the words to say next. Doesn't he know, no matter how well-crafted the argument it, the boar won't listen? Felix's father continues to show deference to the madman, and he hates it.</p><p>Silence continues to hang.</p><p>"Don't you want <em>victory?"</em> The boar finally breaks the tension, slamming his fists on the table and pushing his chair back as he stands. "We have it within our grasp!"</p><p>Felix isn't sure if <em>we</em> means Dimitri's ghosts or those presently assembled.</p><p>"We ride to Enbarr to claim it. To claim her head," the boar snarls. "To hang it –"</p><p>"Take your delusions somewhere else, boar!" Felix yells, kicks back his chair, standing and facing the boar from across the table. "Ride alone to Enbarr if you wish! Rid us of the burden of having to cater to your every—"</p><p>"Felix! Please!" Rodrigue says, also standing and raising his voice. Felix whips around to look at his father. He has the nerve to tell Felix to cease and desist?</p><p>"Do you not <em>care?</em> That your loyalty is in a beast and not a man?" Felix says to his father.</p><p>"Felix –" Rodrigue tries to say sternly, but Dimitri cuts him off.</p><p>“I will go alone if I have to,” the boar nearly spits at Felix, “but I offer you a victory. I offer you <em>all </em>a victory. And you,” the madman’s gaze is wild and not anything that belongs to Dimitri, rightful king of Faerghus, as he fixes Felix with his good eye, “you are a fool to doubt.”</p><p>"I never said I doubted your ability to tear heads from shoulders," Felix replies. "But listen to me, boar, if you yet can. You live only to kill every last one of <em>them</em>? You'll kill every one of <em>us</em> too!" Felix points a sweeping finger at everyone seated around the long table.</p><p>And then he storms out, because there’s nothing more he can do here.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sylvain delivers the news from outside Felix's closed door.</p><p>They're starting the trek to Enbarr tomorrow.</p><p>Rodrigue is sending messengers to Count Charon for reinforcements, but it certainly won’t be an impressive force. Sylvain says he has some hope in a messenger to the Alliance, though – with Claude on their side, they would have a good chance.</p><p>The path to Edelgard will lead them through Gronder field in a few days. Knowing Edelgard, perhaps she’ll even want to meet them there, Felix considers, as Sylvain is relaying the information through the door.</p><p>Felix moodily hauls himself up from the floor where he's stretching and opens the door to see Sylvain looking more haggard than usual.</p><p>They give each other a long look.</p><p>Seems to go unsaid: <em>You don’t look so good.</em></p><p>"So we're following the boar to our deaths then?" Felix breaks the silence.</p><p>"You're going?" Sylvain raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"Who's going to keep the boar alive?" Felix asks rhetorically.</p><p>"You literally told him to go die,” Sylvain guffaws.</p><p>“Does it sound like he <em>cares? </em>Like that – that thing cares?” Felix retorts.</p><p>“You’re the one keeping him alive every battle,” Sylvain throws up his hands.</p><p>“I’m not keeping the boar alive! I’m keeping Dimitri alive!” Felix replies without thought. He steps back from the doorway a bit.  Sniffs and wipes his hand across his face. “In case – he ever . . . returns.”</p><p>“I hope he comes back to his senses, too,” Sylvain shakes his head in reply. “Until then . . . we march.”</p><p>“To our collective deaths.”</p><p>“Don’t be like that. I'm sure Claude will give us a hand.”</p><p>"Too bad the boar's not much for diplomacy these days. I'd think a personal visit would be better than sending a messenger."</p><p>"You and I both. But the king says to march, we march."</p><p>"Even if the boar sits on Fhirdiad's throne, he wouldn’t be my king," Felix says with contempt.</p><p>“You know, you’ve come dangerously close to treason several times lately. I admire the guts,” Sylvain says, clearly trying to lighten the mood, in good old Sylvain fashion.</p><p>“You held Areadbhar for at least a minute at Myrddin,” Felix retorts, crossing his arms.</p><p>“That <em>was </em>pretty amazing. Might do it again sometime.”</p><p>“Tch.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>After a few hours running around with Sylvain, getting their infantry more or less organized and ensuring they’ll have enough arms as they make the south-western trek, Felix is ready to pack in for the night.</p><p>He passes the western entrance to the cathedral on the way to his room. Pauses to glance in and see if the boar has taken up his usual place in front of the pile of rubble.</p><p>Felix wasn’t planning to torture himself by watching the unchanging incoherence of the boar tonight, but the splash of blue he expects is not there. Curious, he wanders in. The cathedral is usually an echoing place but Felix can walk softly and does it more out of habit now. Dance practice once in a while, in the evenings, when he’s too restless to sleep. Seems to help.</p><p>He looks around. It’s quite empty. Most seem to know that Dimitri spends much of his time in this place and therefore avoid it.</p><p>The marble floor is dusty, with a few cracks, but not unserviceable for a quick run-through of the latest step Felix has been working on. It’s the second-last one in Book II. He makes it halfway through the sequence, messes up his arms. Restarts, gets it this time.</p><p>He stands in blue-tinted light coming through one of the coloured glass panels, surviving the blockade of debris.</p><p>“Why am I even here,” he mutters to himself. He hasn’t ever used his dancing skill on the battlefield. One he might die on soon, if he keeps following the boar.</p><p>“Do you . . . truly doubt me,” comes a low, grating inquiry from Felix’s right. He pivots, tensing – creeping around the corner from inside the alcove with the four saints’ statues is the boar prince, huddled in his cape.</p><p>“Ugh,” Felix says, more to himself. Then, to the boar, “No, I said as much. But I’m also certain we’re going to our deaths.”</p><p>What state is the boar in tonight? Lately, he <em>has </em>been more unsettled at night, as if even the dead cannot give the vengeful mood complete permanence. But he has not spoken to Felix.</p><p>“Maybe so,” the boar murmurs, shuffling slowly from one side of the doorway to the other.</p><p>While the boar’s in a talking mood, Felix may as well get the answers to some of his questions. “Do you want to die?”</p><p>The boar stops his movements and fixes Felix with a quivering gaze, furry cloak wrapped tight to him. “I . . . They . . . it must . . . we must . . . kill her,” he says, and jerkily continuing, “no matter how.”</p><p>If the boar’s bloody outbursts make Felix mad, this makes him sick. Overwhelms him with the longing to rip Dimitri out of his cage and free him – but of course, Felix cannot do that. Instead, he can only observe the man fettered by the dead.</p><p>“No matter your life, no matter our lives,” Felix shakes his head. It’s not even a question. “My life,” he adds bitterly. To himself, because Sylvain is right. The boar isn’t forcing Felix’s determination to follow. He’ll give it, to the end, even if it’s a sacrifice to a beast, in memory of the one he once . . . who was once his friend. That’s the truth of it.</p><p>The boar shudders and drops to the floor, cape surrounding. He hums and it grows into a wail. Felix realizes he’s saying <em>no. </em>“Noooooooo . . . “ the boar trails off, “no no . . . . they . . . Felix you know I don’t – they . . . “ Dimitri is huddled on the floor, like a cornered animal, and to hear his name authentically from the mouth of the beast, Felix is drawn. He takes a few steps closer to the boar, but the hope is only rewarded with reversion. The boar’s head snaps up at Felix’s approach, white of his eye showing, jaw clenched.</p><p>Felix recoils.</p><p>Wish he’d never come.</p><p>He leaves.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Gronder is an absolute <em>mess.</em></p><p>Their messenger to the Alliance must have been intercepted by Imperial troops, because the red and yellow flags that meet them on the field are both in opposition.</p><p>Byleth had a strategy in case this happened, so at least they have a plan to follow.</p><p>Felix manages to stay close enough to the boar in the wild confusion and noise that follows, for some time. Armored knights and knights on horseback try to block their way past the creek to the ballista at center field, but somehow, slipping through mud and splashing through water and scrabbling up the shallow bank, the bulk of the Faerghus forces make it to the main field. The idea is to split their troops; half to defend the center ballista, half to target where the Imperial troops would be originating, on their trek from Fort Merceus. Wisps of a heavy fog from the early morning still remain and it’s unclear whether Claude or Edelgard or both are present. But the boar cries that he knows she is here, and he’ll have her; he tears down soldier after knight after mage in a planned trajectory to where she would stand.</p><p>At some point, the strategy starts to fall apart, as Alliance soldiers flank them from the rear. A heavy projectile from the ballista flies overhead as Felix is dispatching a mounted knight; towards the Imperial forces, so Faerghus must have taken the ballista. A good sign, but for how long? Another win – Felix glimpses the Sword of the Creator knock down Hubert, Edelgard’s right-hand man, through the fray. But then just as Felix is tracking the black-white-blue of Dimitri’s cape (they gave him new armor – jewels to a pig), he finds the sword grating off his is wielded by Petra.</p><p>They sparred fairly often at the academy.</p><p>She doesn’t seem to have any reservations about facing him in real battle now.</p><p>By her dress, she’s been promoted to assassin class. She’s fast, and maybe has more up her sleeve than Felix. But he’s stronger. He presses that advantage as there’s a flurry of metal, drives her back even as she tries to evade. Felix has a few opportunities for a good hit, but he doesn’t want to watch her writhe and scream and bleed out. So he waits it out, taking a nick to the cheek, a blow that ruins a shoulder guard, and eventually he has an opening to her neck and takes it.</p><p>He doesn’t watch her fall. Moves on to a mage aiming a fire cast at him; blocks it with a thunder before it materializes, goes in with his sword again.</p><p>When he’s vanquished that foe, he tracks the vivid blue of the boar’s cloak again, but he’s lost sight of the colour. He turns around, but no glimmer of blue-edged armor or the fur-cape. <em>Curse him! </em>Then another enemy is upon him, and he has only time to fix his stance before blocking the thrust of a lance.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>//Dimitri//</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>There she is!</em>
</p><p>They are joyous, the ones who have left him, the dead. They are a chorus, expressing their will in unison as he prowls towards her. He <em>is </em>their will.</p><p>Vengeance is near.</p><p>Edelgard is dressed all in red armor, with glowing Aymr. If there were a weapon more bloodthirsty than Areadbhar, it would be that axe.</p><p>He won’t allow it today.</p><p>“Stab your chest, smash your head, break your neck . . .” he growls, pacing herself, seeing how she will react, enjoying the moment. The mental cacophony suggests many more ways to take her apart. He grins. This is the moment before father and stepmother and Glenn will all be free, where they will finally be sated, served their tribute. Edelgard – she will be free as well, once he takes her head from her shoulders. “How do you wish to meet your end?”</p><p>“I have no intention of dying today,” Edelgard announces, her expression hard, raising her chin with a small smile. Those that left him behind, they urge him – <em>faster! Kill her! Split her open! Hurry, hurry! </em>– they are hungry, and they give him the strength to burst into a sprint. He holds Areadbhar ready to extend and run her through. But before the lance can reach its intended victim, a dark red sigil whirls to life below the Empire’s leader and light beams up, covering its leader, warping her away from the small fort. At the same time, mages appear around the fort, cloaking spell spent.</p><p>His dead scream and he roars in rage; he’s been cheated of his prey. <em>Too slow! Useless! Where did she go? Where did she go?! </em>He scatters the mages with his lance. “You think you can escape, Edelgard?!” he shouts.</p><p>Rodrigue has come riding up to him. A nuisance. The Faerghus forces surrounding them begin to coalesce into formation, the enemy routed for now – although the slain underfoot wear the colours of all three armies.</p><p>“Your Highness! We’ve lost too many men, we must retreat to the bridge – “ Rodrigue is telling him.</p><p>Dimitri has fixed his gaze on the wide, worn path that goes south from the fort.</p><p><em>Useless! Go! Go, she’ll be hiding in retreat! Find her! Cut her open! Or you failed! You failed again! </em>“That woman -- I must pursue her –”</p><p>“Your Highness, there are most certainly Imperial forces in wait down that road, it’s too dangerous –"</p><p>Dimitri whirls and snaps his teeth at Rodrigue. “I’ll kill <em>all </em>of them! No matter how many thousands –”</p><p>A head and hair somewhat like Edelgard’s catch the corner of his eye, but when he turns, it’s just a woman who joined the Kingdom army some battles ago.</p><p>One of his own, she’s running at him, yelling, and this is what he hears as she gets close enough:</p><p>“. . . <em>you will never be forgiven!</em>”</p><p>The dead laugh and scream her words in unison. They mock him. They love this reminder. No! He hasn’t failed yet, he still has a chance to redeem himself, he can chase Edelgard down, she is surely only just out of sight.</p><p>“Hold!” Rodrigue calls to the woman, who slows down just before the couple steps to the dais of the fort. “What—”</p><p>“Stay and fight, the rest of you, I’ll hunt her down myself,” Dimitri orders Rodrigue and the soldier, and turns his back to the battlefield, setting off down the path.</p><p>He’s only two steps away when Rodrigue lets out a cry from behind him. The dead don’t let him look back, if he is to have enough strength to accomplish his goal, he must do it as they’ve planned – but --</p><p>“Dimitri!” Rodrigue yells, voice urgent and pained; a shout from the woman soldier.</p><p>At this, Dimitri’s feet freeze. Despite the urgency of his target and the behest of his dead, he wrestles his attention backwards, only to see Rodrigue fall due to a stab wound from their own soldier. She raises the weapon and rushes at him. “You filthy <em>monster!” </em>she screams.</p><p>His betrayal of attention seems to have affronted the dead. Their voices echo away, and he tries to raise his lance in defense even as he feels the strength diffusing out of him. But he has no need to hold her off, as the Sword of the Creator snakes around her from behind, and a bolt of magic quickly fells the soldier.</p><p>Ignoring Byleth, Dimitri staggers to the collapsed form of Rodrigue. His head feels too light and empty. There’s ringing in his ears, the decrescendo of the battle, but no ghost voices.</p><p>The red blooming from Rodrigue’s abdomen shrinks with a heal cast from Byleth, but expands again just as quickly as the spell fades. Rodrigue’s saying something. Dimitri doesn’t hear. He only knows that Rodrigue is a dead man now. Dead, defending him.</p><p>“I killed you, I did this, as though I – I wielded the blade,” Dimitri pants, frantically, holding Rodrigue. <em>No, no, not Father and Rodrigue too . . </em>. “This was my fate, my punishment!” Something has gone terribly wrong. He shakes his head. He feels barely strong enough to just prop Rodrigue up like this.</p><p>“My boy, there are no . . . sins or punishments on… the battlefield,” Rodrigue manages.</p><p>Dimitri cannot say anything. The battlefield is made for punishments. The battlefield is where you have a chance to atone . . . or dig a deeper hole.</p><p>“You really do . . . look just like . . . His Majesty,” Rodrigue trails, and then he’s still.</p><p>Dimitri shudders. He looks up. Byleth’s head is bowed in respect.</p><p>Behind their strategist, Felix comes running up and stops short. His amber eyes grow wide with shock, a rare expression of disbelief and something like horror crossing his face that makes Dimitri tremble again.</p><p>But he has no words, can’t offer anything to Felix but his father’s dead body.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As it turns out, the woman who killed Rodrigue, and would’ve killed Dimitri, had a brother who Dimitri slew in battle. She must have joined the Kingdom troops for a shot at revenge.</p><p>Dimitri doesn’t even have the faintest clue who her brother was.</p><p>Rodrigue will be buried at Garreg Mach for now, and that’s where they ride to. Under Byleth’s direction. Dimitri is lost. He has no guidance to give to others. The troops have suffered heavy losses. It turns out that no one is certain whether Claude has perished, but the Alliance army, including former classmates, was thoroughly routed by the Imperial and Kingdom forces.</p><p>It begins raining on their journey. Dimitri rides, Byleth wordless beside him. He feels the cold seep in. That's familiar, but what he's not used to is the discomfort. The dead babble, but they’re incoherent, only a headache. He has not served them well enough at Gronder. They are withdrawing, and so is the inhuman fortitude they supply him with. Dimitri has not much strength other than to hold onto the reins, grip the saddle, and chase train of thought after train of thought until he loses the thread and stares into the distance, down the road.</p><p>Sylvain, Ingrid, Mercie, Annette – they all give their condolences briefly. To him, and probably to Felix, but Felix is riding somewhere else in their ranks. Far from Dimitri.</p><p>Felix deserves at least that. A respite.</p><p>As Dimitri visits the chain of recent events, they start to snap into place just like the pieces of Byleth’s sword. His own actions replay in his mind. Some seem distant, even though they weren’t that long ago. Was that really his gauntlet, covered in the gore he exacted from a nameless Adrestian knight? It was, according to his memories. There are so many of these memories, though not so much memories as flashes, images of his deeds. Entire battalions dead. Dead at his hand. Of course, it’s war. But aren’t they just .  . . monsters? Wasn’t the woman who killed Rodrigue just a meaningless minion of Edelgard’s making?  Wasn’t her brother? Or is Dimitri the one who turned that woman’s sword to himself?</p><p>Something about the grand plan for victory is falling apart in his mind.</p><p>What did Felix say about that, about victory? Damn it, what did Felix say? Why wouldn’t it work? He can’t quite remember. No, no, Felix had said he might win. What was it Felix told him?</p><p>The memories of the recent past that Dimitri sifts through as he rides are overwhelmingly bloody. His hands shake on the reins as they remember driving Areadbhar through body after body, or tearing flesh without the aid of the lance. Any other recollection is somewhat fractured, scattered. He knows he was at war council. He knows he couldn’t sleep and stayed in the cathedral. Felix was there. Right? Or had he imagined him? He has an image of Felix, doing a dancer’s step in the light that casts down through the stained glass, around the heap of rubble. That must be imagined.</p><p>So the ride is mostly silent.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The bad weather prevails even as they return to the monastery.</p><p>At some point, Dimitri must have passed out, and he wakes up in a monastery bed not remembering how he got there. His senses scramble to return to him.</p><p>Father, stepmother and Glenn promise him his strength if he should but get up and go to the stables. They are more indistinct though, farther away.</p><p>He pushes himself off the edge of the bed; no armor, servants must have re-dressed him to the long-sleeved shirt and thick pants while he was asleep. Immediately his legs fail him and he breaks a fall with his hands braced on the floor.</p><p>His dead howl with laughter. He snarls, furious at his own weakness, and listens to what they have to say. <em>She is still alive! She still breathes! And you sleep! Failure upon failure! </em></p><p>Strength he shouldn’t have seeps back into his limbs. He gets up, finds his armor propped on the stand beside the closet. Clean and shining. Puts it on. No Areadbhar; no matter. There is a cloak in the closet. He takes it for his trip to the stables.</p><p>Outside is dim and foggy, and the grounds are damp with fresh rain. It must be early, early morning. He must have slept for some time.</p><p><em>Find her. Find her, kill her. </em> He’s forgotten something, though. He’s forgotten something. Someone . . . no matter, he is nearly at the stables, having avoided scrutiny by thanks of the time, the cloak and the fog.</p><p>Just as he is about to go in, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he glances behind him.</p><p>Byleth.</p><p>“You’re going to Enbarr,” Byleth says.</p><p>“The dead must have their tribute,” Dimitri replies, in sync with father, stepmother, Glenn, a new voice he can’t quite --</p><p>“Rodrigue’s funeral was going to happen yesterday, but everyone agreed you should rest,” Byleth continues.</p><p>Rodrigue.</p><p>The woman, and her wrath over the brother Dimitri doesn’t remember killing.</p><p>The look on Felix’s face.</p><p>Everything floods back. He lets it, he lets it flow and displace the urgent babbling of the dead.</p><p>“<em>No!</em>” he shouts, but the past is final. All that have fallen in his dogged path towards Edelgard will never rise again. <em>To Enbarr! Do not make his death in vain! </em>“No!” he says again. That’s not what Rodrigue wanted. <em>That’s not what anyone wants, </em>he thinks. He thinks! The dead scream, angered! He falters, suddenly weak. His head hurts; the dead wail: <em>kill them, kill –</em></p><p>But Dimitri sees Rodrigue bloody and still in his mind’s eye, and Felix’s stunned face, and he remembers:</p><p>
  <em>You live only to kill every last one of them? You'll kill every one of us too!</em>
</p><p>Byleth catches him, supports him by an arm, as the world slips away again.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Rodrigue’s funeral is cold and wet.</p><p>Dimitri is up again, though barely standing. He’s light and weak, but dressed properly for the funeral, at least. He stands beside Byleth.</p><p>His head is fuzzy. Sore, from the inside. But strangely quiet. Those who have left him --  their murmurings are only vapors, indistinguishable echoes.</p><p>Kingdom soldiers from House Fraldarius bear Rodrigue’s simply-hewn casket between the split in the crowd gathered; enough are here to fill the terrace overlooking the graveyard as well.</p><p>Felix is not one of the men bearing the casket. Something is not right. In a haze, Dimitri realizes he hasn’t asked after Felix. He should have.</p><p>The soldiers rest the casket beside the dug hole.</p><p>Motion beside Dimitri. The crowd parts and Felix is there, walking to the grass behind the grave in the light drizzle. He’s barefooted. Dimitri realizes, seeing the long, dark shift he wears, banded simply around the shoulders, the white sash with one end tied to each wrist. He would have expected a monk or a soldier who knew how to perform the end steps, not Felix.</p><p>But sure enough, Mercie reads the last line, and the men lift the casket to begin lowering into its resting place, and Felix begins the end steps.</p><p>This dance is well-known: slow, stilted, strange. Felix’s hands open, following the traditional movements. Arm bends, stops, overhead, stuck for a moment before moving on. The control is evident, effortful. Dimitri’s gaze flicks from Felix to the lowering casket, back to Felix, back to the casket.</p><p>Felix’s mouth is set in a hard line that looks like it might break as he completes the dance, as dirt is shovelled over the casket, as his father is laid to rest. He holds the final pose, and as the last bit of dirt is flung over the resting place, pulls his wrists apart; the white sash undoes and flutters to the ground.</p><p>Dimitri’s throat is unbearably tight as he watches.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri has not consoled Felix in years; firstly, because Felix wouldn't have taken it; secondly, because Dimitri's been in no shape lately to do any consoling. A strange thought: he and Felix are alike now; alone; no father, no mother, no siblings left.</p><p>The funeral crowd slowly dissipates. It seems many know the Fraldarius heir well enough to conclude he won’t take much comfort in kind words. He accepts Mercie’s condolences, though, and Annette’s. Ingrid and Sylvain just nod and leave him.</p><p>Eventually it’s just Byleth, Dimitri, and Felix.</p><p>“I know you were at odds with your father for most of our campaign,” Byleth says to Felix. “But he was your father. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Felix exhales through his nose. “He wasn’t a good father. But he was a good man,” he says. It comes out rough.</p><p>“Go to the infirmary when you’re done,” Byleth tells Dimitri, and leaves them be.</p><p>Dimitri’s body screams for a bed and rest, but this is more important. What he manages to say is just, "I thought you gave up dancing." It comes out rather choked. It's not the right thing to say to someone after a funeral, but it's better than trying to console Felix.</p><p>Felix’s hair is damp and frizzy at the edges. He looks up at Dimitri, eyes red in the corners. He doesn't say anything for a moment.  </p><p>Looking at him, Dimitri is filled with the rush of desire for Felix to run to him like he would when they were children, to be enough to hold him again. He certainly isn’t in any state to do so, now.</p><p>"I still remember enough steps for . . . this," Felix gives in reply, shifting his gaze around Dimitri's face, as if searching for the beast. His bloodshot eyes and beleaguered demeanor undercut the stiff answer. "Why are you here? Thought you'd be off after Edelgard already."</p><p>“I . . . I’ve decided,” Dimitri starts, unused to speaking without being prompted by his dead, “we go to Fhirdiad.”</p><p>“<em>Kh</em>,” Felix makes a strangled noise of surprise. “You what?”</p><p>“Decided,” Dimitri says faintly. His head throbs. He focuses on Felix so he won’t topple over.</p><p>Felix seems to consider this. He scrutinizes Dimitri. “Am I speaking with the boar, or with the man?”</p><p>“Are we not one and the same?” Dimitri says. His foes’ blood stains his hands only. There is no other to blame, ultimately.</p><p>Felix abruptly looks away. “If only you weren’t,” he says, quietly, pointedly.</p><p>Dimitri exhales. Hot air clouds briefly in the cold before dissipating. Felix has a knack for being right about Dimitri, for cutting through, for seeing him. Dimitri wants to say he’s sorry, but it would sound so pitiful.</p><p>“I would apologize to you, Felix, but words cannot ever be enough,” he says.</p><p>“I don’t care for fancy words. I care for actions.” Felix crosses his arms. “So get to the infirmary. It’s a long trek to Fhirdiad.”</p><p>Dimitri bows his head in acknowledgement. He turns to go and stops only momentarily when he realizes Felix is at his side.</p><p>“What? You’re about to fall over.”</p><p>Dimitri can’t argue with that.</p><p>They make their way slowly up the stairs, heading south through the monastery grounds.</p><p>There’s only one Fraldarius left with him, now, Dimitri thinks. Two already dead in his place. There's a short, burning feeling in his chest to think this -- that Felix -- no. No, he can't . . . Dimitri's withstood much in his life, even if he has had to pay a wrong and bloody price for some trials. The tightness in his chest now tells him there will be no undoing, unbreaking, no going on if Felix dies on the path to final victory.</p><p>Dimitri cannot fathom why Felix – why Felix has been with him, gone to him, all this time. Since the first day they knew each other. Despite the circumstances. Despite – despite Dimitri himself, or how he has not been himself. He does not question it. He cannot question it. He needs to just hang on, for now. Felix is a seeking arrow, and if Dimitri lets himself be found, he becomes tethered. He becomes better. Does that make him weaker? So what if it does?</p><p>"You danced well," Dimitri murmurs, breaking the silence as they near the infirmary.</p><p>"I didn't enjoy it," Felix replies.</p><p>"I didn't expect so," Dimitri replies.</p><p>Felix's mouth tightens as he bites his lip. "Then don't make me do it again," he says. "Dimitri,” he adds.</p><p>Since when has Dimitri been <em>Dimitri </em>and not <em>boar?</em></p><p>Then Mercie and another healer emerge from the infirmary doors and help Dimitri inside.</p><p>Maybe if Dimitri can cobble enough of himself together, he won’t have to lose Felix, too. He won't let it happen.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri’s rest over the next day comes much easier than before.</p><p>To some degree, the dead twisted and magnified the principles he held dear. Parts of their doctrine were sourced from Dimitri’s own code of conduct.</p><p>Case in point: he cannot rest. Not when there is work to be done.  Not when he has debts to pay.</p><p>He rebuts this: Maybe he doesn't deserve to rest; so what? Life doesn't always give you what you deserve.</p><p>Not a perfect defense, but it’ll do. It’ll get better.</p><p>Another: a deserving king cannot be weak. Better to have vengeance than this. A sole purpose, a lone goal: vengeance strengthens.</p><p>His rebuttal: Vengeance can go to the depths of hell. There are better things, and maybe weakness is just part of the package sometimes. So what, if he will no longer be a one-man army? Well, he never really was. Of his unsteady memories, there are too many of Felix healing him, as he rushed onward with only the thought of bloodshed, to count them as false. So what if that makes him weak? So what . . . some things that seem like they make you weak . . . perhaps strengthen you instead . . . so what if he loves someone . .  .</p><p>Even just thinking is tiring.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Suffice to say: the dead had a certain power. Not only is Dimitri not quite the force he was, but he’s also got a debt to pay to his body for everything he put it through these past years. At long last, he's pliant to Mercie's pleas for bedrest, because he actually feels the weakness, the lost weight, the lost sleep, the exhaustion, malnourishment even.</p><p>It’s now been a handful of days, and Dimitri is mending as well as could be expected. At the next war council – the first where father and stepmother and Glenn do not drown out any consideration of another path with their insistence on Edelgard's head – Dimitri can nod when Byleth turns to him.</p><p>"We believe marching first to Fhirdiad and having his Majesty claim the throne will greatly increase the chance of success of further campaigns against Adrestia."</p><p>"I agree," Dimitri says. The voices that are not his own flare at the back of his mind, but he quells them.</p><p>No growling outburst. No slamming fists on the table.</p><p>Felix snorts from across the table, smiling. The only one Dimitri told ahead of time. The others at the table are clearly a little startled to have no opposition to the idea.</p><p>"Alright. Let's look at the supply list first," Byleth continues.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>A quick ride will be a needed outing – and a test for Dimitri's stamina. He is to be accompanied, of course. Just a ride down and around town, back to the monastery.</p><p>Ingrid is busy with her pegasi captain responsibilities, but Sylvain, Felix, and Byleth ride with Dimitri.</p><p>Felix hangs back with Byleth while Sylvain and Dimitri talk in the front. As they make their way through the market to the path descending from the monastery Dimitri occasionally pauses to acknowledge children who are too excited for their parents to hold back, giving them a wave or even receiving a trinket from one boy. The monastery has become a shelter for those in nearby towns displaced by the war.</p><p>When they're out in the open air, Sylvain picks up the pace to a trot.</p><p>Riding is no joke. Downhill at a moderate speed does require some gripping with your legs, good posture.</p><p>Dimitri makes it most of the way before his body starts to ache painfully with the use of so many of his muscles at the same time. He tries to hold on, but reins in his horse as he realizes he’s done. Sylvain heels his horse around and returns to Dimitri as he dismounts ungracefully and flops to a seat on the grassy slope.</p><p>“Just need to . . . rest for a bit,” he says.</p><p>Felix and Byleth catch up, wait until he says he’s good to go again. But when he stands the blood rushes away from his head and he nearly passes out.</p><p>The ride is called to a halt and they return slowly to the monastery.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Later, Byleth and Sylvain are speaking quietly outside Dimitri’s infirmary curtains, as they must think he’s asleep.</p><p>He catches some of their conversation.</p><p>“. . . we can wait is two days, more than that and we risk . . . “</p><p>“   . . . supplies for . . . but unless he recovers enough to . . . may not be able  . . . “</p><p>“. .  . two weeks . . . Edelgard to recoup and plan . . . move as fast . . .”</p><p>He’s holding them back.</p><p>Troubled, he tosses and turns.</p><p>As much as he tells his body to rest and recover, his mind is too caught up in worries and alternative plans to sleep.</p><p>What might be minutes or an hour later, there’s a soft <em>poomf </em>of a knock from the outside of his curtains. He leans up on an elbow as Felix leans just his head and shoulders in for a brief message.</p><p>"Meet me in the training grounds, after Mercie finishes her evening check on you."</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Dimitri does as furtively suggested. After he’s sure Mercie is gone, he hauls himself up and makes his way to the training grounds. There's a slight chill. He's dressed in a white blouse, light coat, black pants. Having more than that is a weight. He feels better walking; it's changing movement, starting and stopping which requires more effort than it ever did.</p><p>A small price to pay for the diminishing, the flattening of his ghosts. They murmur, they speak still, but it seems farther away. He feels clearer, lighter, and yes, weaker. He still has good days and worse days; today is a good day. His head is mostly quiet.</p><p>He takes the long way around to the training grounds, trying to avoid anyone who might force him back to resting. He gets glances from a page, a couple of guards, but they don't seem to have the nerve to tell him to go to bed.</p><p>Meeting the braced wooden doors to the training grounds, he leans his weight into them and pushes open. Manages that. He almost laughs at himself. What kind of king will he be? One who lacks an eye who struggles to even open doors? Of all things he would most hate to have to be carried half the way to Fhirdiad, and there’s no chance he’s fit for battle like this.</p><p>The walls of the training ground block out much of the dying rays of sun; lamps are lit on the columns around the inset stone floor. Dimitri blinks and adjusts, directing his half-gaze to the rack of training swords.</p><p>Felix is there, and he walks down the few steps to the floor of the sparring area.</p><p>Dimitri's breath catches in his throat.</p><p>Felix is wearing his dancer garb.</p><p>White and blue and silver, beautiful enough to touch, sharp enough you'd hesitate. The tunic, embellishments, wrap, under-tunic – not feminine, but elegant, smooth, his shoulders are strong and his step is sure. Dimitri's only seen Felix in it once, years ago, and suddenly it strikes him how Felix is older since then. He's not a teenager, not anymore. He's grown up, grown into himself.</p><p>Dimitri can't deny the way he's been craving Felix's company. He's admittedly been a little surprised just how much he's gotten lately. But he didn't expect this.</p><p>The king-to-be is so rapt for several moments it takes the near immediate motion of others for him to notice their presence.</p><p>"Your Majesty, ready to defend yourself?" Sylvain says. He's lightly dressed with a leather breastplate; hands a similar one to Dimitri. Dimitri obliges and pulls it on, pulls the buckle tight. Ingrid, beside Sylvain, is similarly outfitted; she's armed with a wooden sword and tosses a training lance to Dimitri. Thankfully, he catches it. He glances from Sylvain and Ingrid to Felix and back, not quite sure what they've got planned for him tonight. Surely they know he's not going to be able to put up much of a fight.</p><p>Felix joins Dimitri, at his side, training sword in hand as well. Sylvain hefts a lance, mirroring weapons between the two pairs.</p><p>Alright, they're sparring, then. Is it rehab night? And Felix intends to dance?</p><p>Dimitri sees a little grin from Ingrid directed towards the dancer. Felix glares back at her. Dimitri can't help but smile a bit at this exchange, and then Sylvain is charging him.</p><p>Of course, Dimitri is more than comfortable with a lance, but his body is sluggish and he can only focus on matching Sylvain's blows. Ingrid trades a few strikes with Felix but then joins Sylvain's efforts against Dimitri.</p><p>"Not fair!" Dimitri cries, blocking a strike from Ingrid, rotating his lance in time to glance away a blow from Sylvain; he should be able to take both of them on decently but they're quite easily driving him back in this state. Sylvain has a height advantage but now also a strength advantage on Dimitri, and Ingrid is much quicker.</p><p>"Come on," Felix says at his side, parrying a blow from Ingrid but then drawing back to leave Dimitri open to her onslaught. He <em>knows</em> what to do in response (one: rid Sylvain of his weapon!), but his body is simply in no state to carry out orders. Nevertheless, he lunges away from Ingrid and toward Sylvain, bringing the bar of his lance against Sylvain's own to see if he should be able to knock it out of his hands.</p><p>Their weapons meet with a sharp <em>thunk!</em> and Dimitri instantly knows he's not got the strength. But suddenly Felix has stepped to his side. Silver, gold-edged sigils glow from Felix as he flourishes a motion with raised hands; the magic simultaneously blooms on Dimitri's tired body feels a surge of speed, strength – as good as new – he twists his lance and pushes Sylvain back, levers the lance out of his foe's hands. It barely has time to clatter to the ground before Dimitri's turning to Ingrid; he blocks her initial stab, the next one, drives her back with a follow-up strike, and soon she's reversing under his onslaught of blows. He sees an opening and is about to win the match when he feels the weakness return, the dancer's blessing fade. Now Ingrid's the one going for his exposed chest as his grip on his lance sags. Just before she's won, Felix dashes in, knocks her sword awry and places his own at her throat.</p><p>"Good match," Ingrid says, pushing Felix's training sword down with a nod, while Sylvain has regrouped with his lance, jogged over.</p><p>"Technically you didn't actually defeat me yet," he points out to Felix and Dimitri. But Dimitri is just standing there, looking at Felix and then looking at himself.</p><p>Felix has never danced for him before.</p><p>He's already hungry for that surge of strength again, all the better because of who brings it.</p><p>"I . . ." Dimitri can only say. "How did you . . . "</p><p>"I practiced until I got it," Felix snorts.</p><p>"But . . . why now," Dimitri asks.</p><p>"This is how we're going to get you to Fhirdiad," Ingrid interjects.</p><p>"And then to Enbarr," Felix concludes.</p><p>Dimitri turns this over in his mind. Felix, dancing at his side, all the way to victory? He can't help a grin. "Alright. Again, then."</p><p>Felix matches his grin.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>"All the <em>a la second</em>s in the world won't build your muscles back," Sylvain says as he racks his training lance, about an hour later.</p><p>"Yeah, it's bedtime," Felix says, putting his sword back as well. Dimitri notes the admission. He's more tired than he would have been after a simple hour of sword-work without dancing or magic, cheeks red, sweat gathering on his hairline and eyebrows, still breathing hard.</p><p>"Thank you, my friends," Dimitri acknowledges their joint efforts.</p><p>"Well, it's about time we get the king to his throne," Sylvain says, lighthearted yet with a serious look in his brown eyes.</p><p>"Yes . . . it's fortunate we're able to do it together," Ingrid says.</p><p>She's right. "You have really become quite the knight," Dimitri tells Ingrid.</p><p>"Hey, what about me? What about my lance skills? Next time, I'll show you this new combat art I learned," Sylvain asserts, as Ingrid nods to acknowledge the compliment.</p><p>"As if the biggest skill change isn't Felix taking up dancing again, after he quit in a violent rage at the Academy," Ingrid pokes.</p><p>"Pfft," is all Felix says in response, because, well, it's true.</p><p>Sylvain and Ingrid say their final goodnights and leave, Ingrid jostling Sylvain as she jokes with him about something. The wooden doors slowly swing shut behind them.</p><p>Dimitri's breathing has returned to resting rate. The sky above is dark blue.</p><p>Felix catches his gaze and they wordlessly walk back to Dimitri's infirmary quarters.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The soon-king of Faerghus gets a more private and luxurious space in the infirmary than the common soldier, not that he requested it. Thick blue curtains enclose a space with a bed, window and lamps along the wall. Changes of clothes are folded on a stand beside the bed, with an empty teacup on top.</p><p>Felix stops halfway to his bed, as if expecting Dimitri to make quick work of retiring. Dimitri only turns to him, to take in the dancer's dress before he has to sleep, even if he knows he'll be seeing this on the battlefield regularly now.</p><p>"Regardless of my own predicament, I'm glad you've finally taken the dancer class seriously," Dimitri hurries to say before Felix can jab at him for staring, "It really does suit you." Dimitri catches the tails of fabric knotted around and hanging from the pendant of Felix's shoulder guard, noticing that this blue is a slightly different shade from the other vivid blues of the dancer garb. Felix's hand goes to his and starts to remove it but in the end just catches and grips. Warm. Felix runs hotter than Dimitri expects; this has been true since they were children.</p><p>"What," Felix says. Dimitri looks into his amber eyes, hands still clasped around the shred of blue.</p><p>"It matches my cape."</p><p>"It is. Your old cape."</p><p>"How . . . "</p><p>"The second report we got of a small band of Imperial soldiers completely routed. A few months after your execution. Found it at the scene. The only real evidence we ever had." Felix's jaw clenches. Dimitri suddenly gets the feeling he's trying not to cry.</p><p>"Felix . . . I'm sorry," is all Dimitri can say.</p><p>"Practice with me," Felix says, and Dimitri watches him swallow down the onset of tears.</p><p>Good thing Dimitri's space in the infirmary is four normal bedspaces combined into one, leaving just enough room for a dance. Felix guides their still clasped hands outwards, his other arm going around Dimitri and resting on his back.</p><p>Oh. So Felix is leading.</p><p>Dimitri hopes he's not coloring, or that Felix can't tell in the lamplight, and places his other hand on Felix's shoulder.</p><p>Immediately, Felix begins their dance, and Dimitri acquiesces, stepping back as Felix steps forwards, uses the pressure of his palm against Dimitri's to suggest the plan of movement. The first several steps are a bit stilted and awkward – Dimitri doesn't know if he's ever been the follower of a dance before – but once he feels the waltz time that Felix leads to, and trusts the cues, it becomes a little easier. Even if they are going slowly, even if Dimitri's body is tired after the intense hour of sparring. Their feet bonk a couple of times. Felix's face is serious and yet softer than usual. Dimitri's stomach is flipping, and he's glad there's no need to talk. As much as he needs to sleep and recoup, feeling the physical exhaustion, a dance with Felix is a far stronger call than that of bedrest.</p><p>They're winding their way around to the other side of Dimitri's bed – <em>1 2 3, 1 2 3.</em> Felix's eyes drift closed and a spell shimmers around his feet, blooms into a sigil that copies itself under Dimitri's feet. The circular symbols, glowing silver with flecks and linings of gold, turn together as gears. Magic blooms and runs through him; the will to fight, the ability to go on, the strength he used to know. And it's all tied to this lone Fraldarius, Felix with all his flaws and edges, his brutal honesty, his relentless seeking.</p><p>Felix suddenly stops, eyes blinking open, and looks at the magic lighting both of them from the feet up, breaking their dance. The sigil fades, and rush that went through Dimitri ebbs down (but it doesn't seem to be gone, no, Felix is close and he's Felix even without his magic).</p><p>"I –" Felix says, dropping their dancer's embrace, taking a step back as if in surprise.</p><p>"What is it?"</p><p>"That . . . That wasn't you?"</p><p>"No," Dimitri laughs. "You're the one who knows magic. What's wrong?"</p><p>"I . . . never learned that one."</p><p>Is Felix going red, even as he frowns?</p><p>Felix's gaze flicks up to his. "I should let you rest."</p><p>Dimitri sits down on his bed at least, shrugging off his coat. It feels really quite good to sit down; his legs thank him.</p><p>"Felix," Dimitri stops him, as Felix is turning to take his leave. "When we win this hellish war – I get the feeling you'll be content to leave House Fraldarius to your uncle – pardon me for presuming so, but if I'm right -- will you be – my advisor?" he nearly blurts.</p><p>Felix produces a genuinely amused expression. "Advisor?"</p><p>"Or – well anything, maybe advisor would be best though. Covers a lot of functions."</p><p>"I was afraid you were going to say <em>dancer.</em> You won't need that once you're back to full strength."</p><p>"Oh, sometimes the advisor will be required to engage in a dance or two," Dimitri says.</p><p>He expects a sharp reply from Felix. A look of daggers.</p><p>All he gets is a half-smile.</p><p>"Alright, then. I accept." And with that, Felix turns and leaves, the thick curtains swinging closed behind him.</p><p>Dimitri blinks after him. Did Felix just accept? Felix Hugo Fraldarius has agreed to be his advisor, after the war?</p><p>Well then, they must win it. And it won’t be at the behest of the dead. It will be to stem the spilling of blood instead of instigating it. How to achieve this victory? He won’t need the thrill of a gruesome vengeance or the strength from beyond the grave. No, he needs Felix: his seeker, his tether, his dancer.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THANK YOU for reading. .. i love u.... pls leave comment,,, i will gladly read</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>